


And Fortify Yourself In Your Decay

by sophia_sol



Category: Highlander: The Series, Slings & Arrows
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Swordfighting, perceived insanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 07:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophia_sol/pseuds/sophia_sol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Either Geoffrey had magically become immortal, or he'd had another psychotic break, and the first option wasn't sounding very likely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Fortify Yourself In Your Decay

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Aria for betaing!

Well, damn, Geoffrey thought, looking down at himself. Either he'd magically become immortal, or he'd had another psychotic break, and the first option wasn't sounding very likely.

Okay. Breathe. Think.

The details were these: Geoffrey had been walking home from the theatre bar after an especially good night of Hamlet. Geoffrey had stepped out into the road. Geoffrey had failed to learn a lesson from Oliver, and had been run over by a truck.

Somehow Geoffrey didn't think that was the sort of accident one should be able to walk away from, and yet -- here he stood.

He examined himself more closely. Ten fingers, two arms, one torso, two legs, one head, and all were attached together as they ought to be. No blood. No open wounds. No bruises. Not even any sore bits, for god's sake.

He sighed. "Hello, madness," he said, and stumbled backward to sit down on the curb. He was _not_ looking forward to spending time in the mental hospital again.

An entirely unfamiliar... _feeling_ passed through his head, and he pressed his face into his hands. Oh, great, another exciting manifestation of insanity.

"Sorry, you've got the wrong name," a voice said, and he looked up, startled.

"What?"

"You've got the wrong name. I'm not madness; I'm Adam Pierson, at your service." Adam Pierson swept a bow, and Geoffrey looked at it critically. It was obviously practiced, done with grace and harmony of motion. An actor, then. But one he didn't recognize, so a fairly new one, most likely -- or at least new to New Burbage.

"Sorry, wasn't talking to you," Geoffrey told Adam, who made a show of looking up and down the entirely empty street. Geoffrey rolled his eyes. "Yes, hello, I've gone mad, nice to meet you too. I'm Geoffrey." He stood, and made his own flourishing bow, which admittedly went a little wobbly. Well, he _had_ been drinking. Wasn't his fault.

But Adam was looking at him with an infuriating expression of tolerant amusement, and saying, "Well, madness is relative."

"Oh, fuck off."

"And what if I don't?

"Look," Geoffrey said, exasperated, "I know perfectly well what madness looks like, because I've _been_ mad before. Got the medical papers to prove it and everything. So I'd really appreciate it if you'd leave me to be mad in peace."

In an entirely unapologetic tone, Adam said, "Sorry, no can do. Wouldn't be very sporting of me to leave a brand-new Immortal all ignorant and unprotected."

A brand-new -- wait, what? "Immortal? _Really_? Are you _trying_ to feed into my delusions here?"

"No delusions. You, my friend, are immortal. You did _notice_ being hit by a truck, right?" He spread his arms. "And here you stand."

Geoffrey very deliberately turned and thunked his head three times against the nearest building. Then he turned back, and said, with exaggerated patience, "Yes, here I stand. And since immortality is _impossible_ , I can only conclude that I have gone mad. And you are just like that whole business with Oliver all over again. Please," he said, with what dignity he could muster, "go away and leave me alone."

Adam didn't, even when Geoffrey glared. "What is this Oliver business you speak of?" he asked, sounding entirely too interested.

With a sigh, Geoffrey said, "You should know that, being nothing but a hallucination created by my decaying mind." When Adam didn't say anything, Geoffrey sighed again, and continued, "That's what Oliver is too. Very annoying ghost of my dead ex-director, speaks to me at the most inopportune moments, and nobody else can see him."

"What, really?" Adam leaned forward, fascination etched on his face. "And you say he's a hallucination? Are you sure about that? I've seen some pretty strange stuff in my life, let me tell you."

" _Yes_ , he's a hallucination," Geoffrey groaned. "I'm mad, remember?"

"Oh, no," Adam said. "I've learned my lesson about refusing to believe in weird mystical stuff. And I know you're not mad as regards the whole immortality business, little though you want to believe me, so -- who knows? Keep an open mind."

Geoffrey didn't deign this with an answer.

"Look," Adam said, into the stretching silence, "immortality is real. Here." He pulled a knife from his belt, and held it out to Geoffrey. "It's a real knife, and the edge really is sharp."

Geoffrey took it, hefted it, tested the edge. "Yes, and?" he said.

"And watch this." Adam took the knife back from Geoffrey, and pressed the tip into the palm of his hand. Blood welled up from the cut. But as Geoffrey watched, the wound began to knit itself together, and when after a time Adam carefully wiped the blood away, Geoffrey could see there wasn't a mark left.

Unbelievable.

No, literally unbelievable. "That is not _possible_ , Geoffrey said. "If I didn't already know you were a figment of my deranged mind, that little display would prove it. Go away."

Adam was undeterred. "Whether you believe it or not, you're immortal now, and that means your life's at risk. You can still die -- if your head gets separated from your body, that's it for you. And there are plenty of other immortals out there, who like to go out hunting for heads. Please, even if you don't listen to another word I say, go get yourself a sword and learn how to use it, and carry it with you at all times.

Geoffrey, who had been listening to Adam's plea with increasing amusement, laughed. "I already carry a sword," he said, and drew the prop sword he'd been having fun with at the bar. He fell easily into a practiced stance, and pointed the weapon at his hallucination. "See?"

He stabbed forward, but Adam jumped nimbly out of the way. In moments he had a sword in his own hand, drawn seemingly out of nowhere from underneath his coat, and Geoffrey stared, narrow-eyed. That...was not the sort of sword he'd expected a fabrication of his mind to carry. It wasn't a fencing sword; and it looked old, and well-used, and sharp. Some tiny bit of self-preservation woke in the back of Geoffrey's brain, and told him to stand down. He ignored it and attacked.

"Really, Geoffrey?" Adam said, as he easily held Geoffrey at bay. "A prop sword isn't much good at cutting heads off. Also, you're not even trying."

"I _am_ ," Geoffrey said. He _was_. Except -- he remembered, belatedly, that as good as he was with a sword, all he knew was stage-fighting, which was designed to be as showy and as non-deadly as possible. All his instincts sent his sword into the fight in ways that gave him no hope of scoring a hit, and left him wide open for attack. Adam could defend himself with hardly any effort, and if he wanted, could kill him in moments.

Except that Adam was a hallucination. He was pretty sure he couldn't be decapitated by a hallucination. But when Geoffrey threw his sword away, and raised his chin to bare his neck, and said, "All right then, cut my head off," Adam stopped, frozen in place.

Well.

Geoffrey hadn't expected that tactic to work quite _that_ well. "Go on," he said, grinning madly now, and leaning into the blade of the still-raised sword. Adam's hand clenched, then loosed, and the sword clattered to the ground.

"So that's what it's like from this end," he murmured, sounding far away. Then he shook his head as if clearing it of a thought, and focused his gaze on Geoffrey. "Okay," Adam said. "You win. I'll leave you alone. Just -- _please_ remember what I said, and carry an actual sword with you? And take lessons in actual sword-fighting."

Adam bent down, picked up his sword, sheathed it, and turned away. Geoffrey stared after him as he walked down the street, and kept staring till long after he was out of sight.

Then Geoffrey picked up his prop sword and went home. "I really hope I don't remember this in the morning," he told himself.

But his morning began with a stranger at the door threatening him with a sword.

Well, damn, Geoffrey thought.


End file.
